


And It Alters In The Night

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bottom Bull, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian thinks briefly that perhaps it would be worse to keep a friend, when he inevitably loses this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It Alters In The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blythesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythesome/gifts).



> A very late birthday fic for Blythe, who wanted bottom!Bull first time with Dorian. I delivered, finally.

**“In the dark, I seem to stretch. Without a body to witness, I grow and grow with my pleasure. I feel like a constellation, a concept hung on a scattering of stars.” - Alaya Dawn Johnson**

 Dorian is quite aware there is a novelty in fucking the Bull. Not the size of his cock, or the size of the man himself, or even any of the things they do together, though many of those are new and exciting ventures. The novelty, it turns out, is that Dorian should become friends with someone he's fucking.

They laugh all the way back to Dorian's room, some stupidity of Varric's about the Champion of Kirkwall. Those stories are always good for a laugh, whether they're true or not, and having led with 'so Hawke's heading to the brothel', didn't disappoint.

And although they're heading with intent to Dorian's room, he finds himself thinking that if whatever this is were to end tonight, if Dorian chose to turn down the open invitation, or if the Bull withdrew it, that would be alright, so long as they still had this surprising friendship. He'd never thought it would be what he found in the South, and certainly not with a qunari, but now it is a precious thing to him.

“Let me see you,” the Bull murmurs as he undresses Dorian, long familiar with the buckles and layers of his outfits, “been thinking about you all day.”

Dorian thinks briefly that perhaps it would be worse to keep a friend, when he inevitably loses _this_.

“There you are,” the Bull murmurs, laughter and reverence both at the cant of his mouth, the shadows on his face moving in the soft candlelight of the room.

 _No matter_ , he thinks as he rids the Bull of his trousers; with the breach still tearing the sky apart, _perhaps we'll die instead._

“What do you want?” the Bull asks, as he ever does, when the intent isn't already clear. Dorian hums, considering the way the Bull's shoulder slope down as he sets his hands on the swell of Dorian's naked backside, how his own arms sit just so along the Bull's biceps, how he can hold his neck, thumb the stubble at the Bull's jaw.

“Would you have me fuck you?”

The Bull considers him, one good eyebrow arching slightly..

“Been a while,” he says thoughtfully. “Yeah. Yeah, I'd have you fuck me, Dorian.”

He'd daydreamed about kissing the Bull before they had become anything other than companions in the Inquisition, and had wondered at first if it could even work. The Bull is huge all over, that grin larger than any human's, those teeth... now, as he presses his tongue forward, it seems a ridiculous worry to have had. The Bull's tongue is sweet and wicked both, his scarred mouth surprisingly soft, and he kisses Dorian much like he holds him, like he fucks him; with a gentleness that Dorian hardly thinks he deserves.

“Come, then,” Dorian says, nudging the Bull towards the bed. “Let me have you.”

“Take your time,” the Bull chuckles, though he backs up anyway, turns to climb onto the bed, “you've got me.”

Does it matter, when the Bull says such things? Dorian can hardly believe that they're deliberate, that they mean anything like what they could, if he were so naive about what they were. Still, Dorian rushes to follow the Bull at that, to crowd him and kiss him on the bed, to _have_ him.

Dorian spreads the Bull's knees; the Bull lets him. He runs his hands along the smooth skin of the Bull's inner thigh, the flesh soft under his hands, worn smooth by the press of thigh on thigh. The Bull hums, and as if Dorian's mouth is wine he's got the taste for, he draws Dorian across his body with fingers under his chin to kiss him again.

The Bull is _stunning_ as Dorian slides one oiled finger inside him. The clench of his fingers against the sheets, his one lidded eye watching Dorian. His body gives so slowly, even as Dorian massages along his perineum with his thumb to ease him into it.

There is a part of him that knows this is freely given, but wonders if it's only in acquiescence. Dorian has yet to ask for anything and be denied by the Bull. He twists his finger around the Bull's hole slowly, watching him all the while, drinking in all he can of him.

“Yeah,” the Bull murmurs, scarred lips parted around a breath that shudders out of him.

There have been men before the Bull who Dorian has done this to, used his fingers and fucked them, but oh, none of them have looked so beautiful as the Bull does.

A second finger has the Bull reaching for Dorian, closing the fingers of one huge hand around his wrist. Dorian slows, waits, but the hand isn't to extract his own, but to pull it closer.

“You like that, do you?”

“Always knew those fingers would be magic.”

He fucks the Bull with them, puts his other hand on the swell of the Bull's stomach beside his swollen cock, lightly scratches there. The Bull shifts into the touch, body squeezing around Dorian's gentle ministration.

When the Bull is panting, hips pressing into Dorian's touch, he spreads more oil over his fingers and presses a third inside. The Bull sucks in a breath, fingers tightening around Dorian's wrist. The Bull's cock, hard and heavy against his belly, twitches out a dribble of precome.

“Are you ready for me?”

“C'mon, big guy.”

He takes back his fingers, strokes oil over his cock, resisting the urge to fuck into the ring of his fist. What a waste, to spend himself like that when the Bull is waiting, willing. He shuffles between the Bull's open knees, spreads them out. The Bull lets out a shuddering breath, brow furrowing.

Something subtle twists in Dorian's gut; he's fallen into focus on the Bull's face, and only now that he lets his eyes wander over the rest of him again, chest rising and falling, where the his hands grip the bedsheets, does he see it – the Bull is _shaking_.

“Are you okay?”

Shaking with the anticipation isn't something Dorian is unfamiliar with, but when the Bull speaks, his voice wavers, too. It isn't as if nerves are anything new in Dorian's sexual encounters, but it is so unlike the Bull, that it has worry gnawing at him again.

“Just been a long time.”

“You needn't agree to this just because I desire it,” Dorian says, voicing his worry plainly, stomach jolting for it.

“You think I'd do that?”

“I rather think you might.”

He wonders if he's hurt the Bull, by hand or otherwise.

“Do you trust me, Dorian?”

 _Of course_ , he almost says, though really, there are many reasons he might not, even if some of them are shit. But despite that—

“I do.”

“Then trust me. It's just been a while; believe me when I say I want your fat 'vint cock in me, big guy.”

Dorian laughs.

“Oh, you're persuasive.”

“Not trying to persuade you, just telling you what I want.”

“Then we're of one mind?” Dorian teases, while his heart beats wildly in his chest.

“Yeah. Give it to me.”

Dorian takes himself in hand and lines his slick cock up with the Bull's hole. The Bull wraps his legs around him, pulls him close, pulls him in.

The Bull is hot and tight, the slide in slow even with the liberal slickness of oil. The Bull groans, grabs for Dorian's backside and he makes shallow thrusts, deeper each time until he's hilted, their bodies are pressed together.

“Shit, _big guy_ is right. Fuck me.”

Dorian pulls back, and then pushes forward, slow, patient strokes, though he thinks if he were to go any faster it would be over much too quickly. The Bull beneath him, the solid bulk of him offered so freely for Dorian to take, the hotness of his body, the way he _looks_ at Dorian in the candlelight, all of it conspires to drive him headlong into his pleasure.

So he sinks inside slowly, pulls back slower. He grabs the Bull behind the knees to help hold his legs up and open, feels how the Bull's heavy balls are jostled against Dorian. The weight of him, the effort of holding him in place and fucking him is more erotic than Dorian could have imagined.

The Bull's body gives incrementally, until Dorian can fuck into him harder, faster, the bed rocking beneath their motion. The Bull grabs his ass, pulling him in hard every time Dorian thrusts forward, helping to fuck himself on Dorian's cock.

“Yeah,” the Bull grunts, “yeah. Fuck, you feel _good_.”

Dorian wants so much to lean forward and take his mouth too, but the position, their sizes won't allow it. Perhaps the Bull knows this, because a hand finds its way up his back, strokes along his arm, then to his neck and his jaw. Dorian turns his face into it and kisses the Bull's palm.

A small adjustment to his position, to the angle of entry, and the Bull is groaning low and long. Dorian spares a hand between them and takes the Bull's heavy cock, strokes and twists his hand along the shaft, eases his way with the precome.

“Are you going to come, Bull?” he asks, an encouragement more than a question. It's almost always Dorian first, the Bull's talented hands or mouth or cock seeing him to his end first, but now he wants it to be the Bull, needs to give this to him.

“Yeah,” he gasps, spreads his arms out beside him, grasping handfuls of bed linen. “Fuck me, fuck me, I'm gonna come, Dorian.”

He does so after not much longer; impressively, copiously, moaning with the climax as he spills over Dorian's fist and his own stomach, hot and sticky across his grey skin. Dorian keeps fucking him, stroking his cock even as the Bull's entire being seems to throb with orgasm, squeezing him even tighter.

“Oh, kaffas, Bull!”

He pulls out, takes himself in hand and with only three strokes he's coming across the Bull's stomach, across his twitching cock, leaving their seed mixed all over the Bull's heaving torso, the mess almost otherworldly in the light from the candles. Dorian hums his amusement, wiping his hand on the Bull's thigh.

“Fuck, Dorian,” the Bull murmurs. “Next time I'm gonna ride that fat cock so hard.”

Paying no further mind to the mess between them, Dorian moves so he can kiss the Bull again, taking his mouth in a kiss he deepens immediately.

“There'll be a next time, will there?”

“Shit, yeah. Plenty.”

Although he might think himself a fool when the morning comes, when the evidence of their fucking is gone and all that remains is the memory of the Bull's skin against his, their seed between their bodies, their breath and their heartbeats as one, Dorian lets himself believe it.

**“There is a no man's land between sex and love, and it alters in the night.” - Norman Mailer**


End file.
